


By Other Means

by fourfreedoms



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Compromise, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, First Time Bottoming, M/M, Silence, Spooning, getting good wood, negotiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 07:42:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1974570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fourfreedoms/pseuds/fourfreedoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Habit?” Patrick repeats, eyebrows raised. He’s got no clue what to make of that.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Jonny shrugs and languidly rolls his shoulders. “Close quarters, you know? Shared a room with my brother growing up, there was never any space to myself, and then boarding school, and then college, and then…you,” he lists out.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	By Other Means

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Roga](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roga/gifts).



> A few weeks ago, I was bored at work, so I asked people to give me funthings to think about.
> 
> Roga sent me this: "FUN THINGS TO THINK ABOUT: years of boarding school, roommates and excessive self control have conditioned Tazer to be completely silent when he comes. Kaner wants to hear him make some noise." 
> 
> I was stumped on my fic for this week's Getting Good Wood, and I went back to this prompt. This is not at all what I intended to write. Originally posted to tumblr, but I did my best to clean it up.

He’s quiet. Patrick realizes that fairly quickly into hooking up with Jonny. Patrick’s slept with a lot of people, and he’s never come across this. It’s a quiet that might as well be total silence. No indrawn breaths or harsh exhalations. He doesn’t talk, not even to tell Patrick he likes something. If Patrick’s wants to know where he’s at, he has to watch Jonny’s face, his mouth and eyes, for fluttering lids and teeth sunk deep into his lower lip. He’s learned to read the way Jonny tightens his grip or goes tense, or the soft shudders that pass through him when Patrick’s done something just right.

The first time he pushes inside, the first cock Jonny’s ever had and he’s taking it so good, Jonny slowly tips his head back on the pillow, throat exposed and eyes shut against Patrick’s greedy perusal. His tongue slides out across his lower lip, leaving it shiny and slick, and he turns his face into his shoulder, but not before his lips part the barest centimeter like he’s about to say something. All that comes is a quick breath when Patrick pulls out and thrusts back in, but he counts it as a victory.

Ultimately though, the soundlessness makes Patrick silent by proxy, and he’s not—not usually anyway. He wants to tell Jonny about the way the sight of Jonny squeezing down so hard on his dick is making him lose it, how amazing he feels, so tight and hot around him. He wants to tell him stupid shit, like how Jonny is gorgeous like this, spread out beneath him. He wants to say his name a million times. But it feels odd to disturb the quiet that's broken only by the sound of the air-conditioning unit, to talk to somebody who isn’t talking back.

He asks Jonny about it, eventually, after he fucks Jonny from behind and the only sound was the headboard hitting the wall and Patrick’s own fast breaths. Jonny can talk about sex fine when it’s not happening to him—it’s weird. When Patrick brings it up, afterwards, both knocked flat on their backs on the bed, chests rising and falling from exertion, he laughs and mentions habit.

“Habit?” Patrick repeats, eyebrows raised. He’s got no clue what to make of that.

Jonny shrugs and languidly rolls his shoulders, another non-verbal cue that he enjoyed himself. “Close quarters, you know? Shared a room with my brother growing up, there was never any space to myself, and then boarding school, and then college, and then…you,” he lists out.

“That’s what showers are for.”

Jonny shakes his head. “Oh boy,” he says with a chuckle and a shrug, “not in my house.”

“I can’t believe you were jerking it with me sleeping right here,” Patrick replies, eyes on the ceiling, picturing it. He never heard a thing. Not. A. Thing. Well, now he knows why.

Jonny rolls his eyes. “Would it have been better for me to have been jerking it with you on the other side of the wall?” he asks, referring to the bathroom in their suite. 

“That’s what I did!” Patrick says.

“Shame, might’ve saved us some time,” Jonny teases. It’s true—if Patrick had been rubbing one out every night under the covers, Jonny would’ve noticed really quick. Patrick might’ve stopped the litany of talk he knows he’s prone to during sex, but he can’t exactly stop the involuntary moans. They're unavoidable, disconnected entirely from thought. He has no idea how Jonny restrains himself. It’s not like he’s quiet if he takes a hit on the ice. He has no trouble indicating pain.

“Does it bother you?” Jonny asks, rolling onto his side to face him.

Patrick furrows his brows. “No, just like, I wanna know if you’re getting there—if I’m doing a good job or whatever.”

“Such a whore for praise,” Jonny replies, “Don’t worry, stud, you’re doing a good job.”

The words are said with mockery, but the kiss that Jonny presses to his lips is soft, an unspoken acknowledgement of its veracity. 

Jonny didn’t exactly throw down a challenge, but he maybe should’ve known that Patrick would see it as one and would fucking take it upon himself to get Jonathan Toews to make some goddamned noise in bed.

His first attempt to tease it out of Jonny ends when Jonny huffs out a breath, done with playing around. He flips Patrick over onto his back, pins Patrick's wrists to the pillows so he can't touch, and sinks down on him in one smooth move. Jonny rides him till his eyes cross, and all Patrick gets for the effort are a couple of soft gasps when Jonny takes him really deep. Another time, he talks pure filth at Jonny the whole time, the most visceral out-there shit he can manage, waiting for Jonny to respond, to do something, even just to tell him to quit it. It doesn't happen, not even after he’s gotten Jonny to come twice, first with his mouth and then again on his cock. Jonny shakes his head at him and says, “You are one nasty motherfucker,” laughter thick in his voice. Patrick groans and punches the pillow.

One day, deep into the attempt, Jonny finally stops him, pushing Patrick off in the middle of a blowjob. “I know what you’re doing, I just—don’t do that,” he says, shrugging his shoulders, face pensive.

“Yeah, but why?” Patrick presses, crawling up the bed to lie beside him. 

Jonny looks away, shrugging. “I dunno, it’d be like…it feels like…” he stumbles around trying to get the words while Patrick holds himself carefully still beside him. “Just…embarrassing.”

“I dunno why though,” Patrick replies. “It shouldn’t be.”

Jonny blows out a frustrated breath, turning his back to Patrick. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

Patrick leans in behind him, wrapping an arm around Jonny’s shoulders. “I just don’t want you to hold anything back.”

They wind up fucking like that, spooned flat on the bed, Patrick jerking him off nice and slow. Halfway through, just when he’s getting close, Jonny sighs out “Patrick.”

It hits Patrick like a shot and he comes right then, completely unable to help himself.

“Uh,” he says afterwards. “Sorry?”

Jonny looks back at him over his shoulder and rolls his eyes. His cock is still swollen hard against his thigh. “You gonna finish what you started?”

Patrick nearly says, “not until you beg me,” out of sheer spite, but he has to remind himself this was a watershed tonight. He’s gotta take the win when he can.

He’s given up by the time he’s worked up the courage to bottom for Jonny. He makes do with the those stuttery gasps, the clues Jonny gives him with his body. At a certain point, he can admit, it was just sheer bloody-mindedness that made him want to make Jonny a vocal wreck. Which is how he's completely bowled over by what happens when Jonny slides the first finger inside him. The words comes pouring out of him. What Patrick looks like, how he's so goddamned lucky to get to do this, how he never thought, all those years that he'd get to have this.

“Can you take another?” Jonny interrupts himself, thumbing Patrick’s rim, index finger sunk to the last knuckle. Patrick nods, astonished. “So tight, Peeks,” Jonny whispers, lips skimming the sensitive inside of Patrick's thigh, when he forces the second finger into Patrick’s hole.

Patrick breathes fast and shallow, so stiff and hard against his belly, a mess of pre-come smeared across his skin. He stares at Jonny in wide-eyed shock. He still hasn't figured it out when Jonny rolls him over onto his stomach, forcing his thighs up the bed so that Jonny can kneel between them.

"You were made for this," Jonny tells him as he slowly thrusts inside. Patrick shuts his eyes tight, unable to stop the full-body shudder that goes through him, body slowly accommodating Jonny's cock. 

Jonny messes him up pretty good, until he’s moaning like a pornstar and the whole time, Jonny talks him through it, until Patrick’s not sure if he’s coming just from the sound of Jonny’s voice or if it’s from the hand on his dick or the way Jonny fills him up so good. It doesn’t matter. He comes so hard he nearly passes out.

“What…what was that?” he asks afterwards, winded, still sprawled out just where he collapsed when Jonny pulled out. Jonny’s sweaty and red and just as over-exerted, like that much talking during sex took it right out of him. He sits, breathing hard, on the edge of the bed, and when Patrick asks, he groans and puts his head in his hands, like he can’t even hold it up.

“It’s not easy your first time on the bottom,” he says, looking up to meet Patrick’s eyes, cheeks hot like he’s embarrassed. “I just wanted you to get what you wanted out of it.”

Patrick laughs, weakly, fondness welling up in him. “Shit, son.”

Well, it’s a start.


End file.
